Paths of Destiny
by zi-ling
Summary: Four young elves come of age during a time of strife and gathering darkness, forging an eternal friendship while escaping from a dark captivity. It will explain why some of the characters in LOTR are the way they are. Please RR
1. Prologue & Imladris

A?N: This is my first story. It is part of a series featuring several familiar characters and an OC. It is an AU, so my coming of age is at 500. My twins and Legolas are about 12-13 in human years. This means no romance for all you Mary-Sue worshippers. It takes place approximately around 231 of the Third Age, when Arwen was born. Please read and review. Constructive criticism is welcome, but please no flames.

Summary: Four young elves come of age during a time of strife and gathering darkness, finding that the bond they have with each other will last through the ages.

Disclaimer: I only own Liranar. Everything else is a result of Tolkein.

* * *

Prologue

The years after the Great War and the Fall of Sauron were times of despair and fear. For though the Dark Lord had been defeated, a shadow still cast its pall about Arda, one that encompassed all races. None were immune to the adverse effects of the war, threatening to destroy the already fragile balance. The Dwarves had retreated within their mountain halls, oblivious to the struggles that ensued after the final, horrific conflict. Men were scattered, weakened by the loss of many a soldier. Their king, Elendil, had perished, along with his son and heir. The line of kings had seemingly ended beyond redemption, leaving Men vulnerable.

Elves fared no better.

The High-King Gil-Galad had fallen, accompanied to the Halls of Mandos by his loyal followers. Too many an eternal flame had been forever extinguished. Few, now, were the havens and refuges in which this immortal race could be found. Those that remained would soon be locked in a constant struggle to inhibit the growing shadows. Rifts had been torn between the Silvan and Noldor races, divisions that had been allowed to grow ever wider as a result of this tension. Blame and bitter accusations stoked the already growing flames. The two estranged Elven races would not allow their grievances to be so readily healed.

And thus did Arda enter the Third Age.

* * *

Chapter One: Imladris

Two dark haired blurs sped through the intricate corridors of Imladris, desperately trying to escape the wrath of their father's advisor. The occasional innocent out for a stroll amidst the serene beauty of the Elven haven suddenly found themselves fearing for their lives as the duo came speeding towards them. They were even more astonished when none other than Glorfindel of the Golden Hair swiftly appeared, wearing nothing but a long towel wrapped tightly about his hips. Jaws dropped as the normally dignified Captain of the Guard skidded by, his famed hair a vivid shade of _pink_.

"Elladan! Elrohir!" he roared, in a voice that had surely cowed the Balrog he had slain so many millennia ago. The observers shook their heads and continued on. The young twins had absolutely no chance of ever coming out of this encounter alive.

The two sons of Elrond Peredhil and the Lady Celebrian had thus far managed to flee because of the fact that the advisor had next to nothing on. However, that advantage was thrown aside when they suddenly found their way blocked by a locked door.

"A Valar, 'Dan, you led us to a dead end!" Elrohir moaned, wringing his hands as he looked over his shoulder.

Elladan pounded his fist against the intricately carved wooden door. When that failed to open it, he resorted to his next plan of glaring at his twin brother as he nursed his bruised hand. "It was your fault too! You were the one who sneezed when we were behind that curtain."

Elrohir's grey eyes flashed, as sharp as steel. He balled his fists for the ensuing conflict. "Yes, but who was the one who gave us away to Glorfindel in the first place?"

Elladan's face, already the mirror image of his brother's, became even more similar with the fires of righteous fury burning behind his sharpened gaze. "That only happened because _you_ shoved me…" His words were abruptly cut off by the entrance of the seething pink haired captain. His mad dash after the twins had not dried him; water flowed off of him in rivulets to puddle on the white marble of the floor. Fury radiate off of him, almost palpable in its magnitude.

Elladan and Elrohir felt the blood drain out of their faces and their eyes grow large in animal-like fear. A bemused part of the Balrog-Slayer noted that the young Elves looked remarkably like…rabbits. Little balls of fur, quivering in fear. Huddled against each other, as if in hope he would not see them. Rabbits who knew that there would be no escape.

He advanced upon the frozen twins, the fires of rage burning in the depths of his brilliant blue eyes. A vicious grin twisted his fair features into a mask that even the bravest could not meet without trepidation. No doubt the twins were brave. They had to be, to risk incurring his ire in the first place. However, he was an Elf-Lord, millennia old, wise and powerful beyond belief. More than a match for the two headaches of Imaldris.

The young Elves backed up until they could go no farther. Glorfindel was terrible in his wrath, the brilliant pink locks drawing nothing away from the strength of his aura. They let out identical squeaks of fear as the formidable warrior closed in upon them.

* * *

Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris, and his lady, Celebrian, strolled arm in arm amidst the ethereal beauty of the vale. The Elves they passed paused their activities to acknowledge their Lord and Lady with reverent bows. In turn, the couple responded with deep nods and a smile before they continued on their way.

The morning had dawned clear and bright, beckoning to all to leave the confines of the halls for the first day of warmth and sun since winter began. It was spring now; the first blooms poked their heads cautiously above the ground, new leaves unfurled from the branches of trees, and birds had once again returned to the Elven haven to regale its inhabitants.

No words were spoken between the couple, but none were needed. The birds sang for them, lifting their voices in melodious songs; praising the coming of the new season.

Elrond looked lovingly at the lady whose arm was wrapped about his own. She had tilted her face to capture the rays of light filtering through the budding trees. Her long locks played about her shoulders, a fierce spangle of golden fire. She hummed to the rhythm of the birds' songs about her, swaying gently as she placed a hand on the rounded flesh of her abdomen. She was as beautiful as the day he had met her, all those years ago, dancing amidst the eaves of Lothlorien with such passion and grace. He had known then that he loved her, this fey daughter of Galadriel. There would never be another. He remembered the day they were married. She had shone brightly, illuminating all with her presence. Her radiance had not diminished; rather, it had only increased as time passed, matching that of the stars held so beloved by the Eldar.

_And she has never looked more lovely than now_, he thought as he watched his wife, heavy with their third child, reach up to pluck a proffered blossom from the branch of a tree. 

"Hannon le," she murmured softly, then looked up as she felt her husband's gaze upon her. His breath caught in his throat as he noted the mischievous sparkle of her dancing grey eyes. So like the twins', they were! She leaned in, pausing to stare deeply into his face. Her proximity stirred him, made his heart gallop at a furious pace. Her lips had quirked upwards ever so slightly. She knew what effect she had on him. She let him suffer a second longer before gently placing her lips upon his, treasuring a bit of light in a darkened world.

A sudden commotion interrupted the intimacy of the moment. The couple reluctantly broke apart. The Elf-Lord sighed. If he had chosen to walk the paths of mortality, his head would have been one great ache right then.

"I suppose my services are required to sort out this new development." Celebrian's eyes grew concerned as she looked upon the weary countenance of her husband. Such burdens he shouldered; striving to keep the dark from engulfing Imladris as well as dealing with the animosity of their woodland kin in Greenwood. She reached up with a gentle hand, as if to simply brush those cares and concerns away. However, that was impossible. She settled for imparting strength and comfort as she stroked the raven locks of her beloved.

"Worry not, meleth nîn." She smiled slightly and pulled him closer once again. "I believe it is nothing that cannot be taken care of at a later time. After all, even great Elf-Lords need a day off once in a while."

He stared at her for a long moment, one elegant brow arched in consideration. "You," he murmured wryly, "are a bad influence. It is most certainly not my fault that the twins are so troublesome."

She lay her golden head upon her husband's shoulder. He placed his own upon hers, his dark hair falling upon them like a sleek curtain. They remained thus for a long while, savoring the fleeting peace of unconditional love on a fresh spring morning.

* * *

"Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?" Elrond aimed The Look at his two errant children, standing before him with heads bowed and a nervous cast about them. No doubt in part to Glorfindel standing behind them; hands twitching ever so slightly, as if with the thought of wringing identical slender necks. A thirst for vengeance gleamed within his brilliant blue eyes; a cold, calculated wrath that boded only ill. It was enough to frighten even the bravest. As it was, the Noldo Elf-Lord was torn between wanting to shudder and outright laugh at his advisor. _I must tell him that pink is truly his color. When there's an army of orcs dividing us, that is._

He did notice when Elrohir gave a sharp jab with his elbow to his twin's ribs. Elladan glared at him. Their eyes met, an unspoken quarrel obviously taking place. The older twin frowned and threw his smug brother a disgusted look before turning back to their father. He glanced up once. Meeting his father's stern gaze, he faltered before deciding to stare at the lord's chin. Elrond cleared his throat demandingly, drumming his fingers against the wood of his desk. The child grew paler.

"Ada, it truly wasn't our fault. Truly." The elfling was babbling and stumbling over his words, so fearful was he of the infuriated presence of the Gondolin Elf behind him. "It's just Tithir told us about some herbs and how they could make hair change color but everyone around here has dark hair except for Naneth and Glorfindel and since Nana's going to have the baby soon we didn't want to bother her…" Elrond placed a calm hand upon his son's shoulder, and felt the young Elf jump slightly. He had not even heard his father come up behind him.

"Breathe, Elladan. You have nothing to fear." _A lie. I'd be a wreck, too, if the Balrog Slayer were looking at me like that._ "Now, did Tithir say if there was anyway to remove the coloring?" Both young Elves looked up at these statements, grey eyes filled with a curious mixture of apprehension and hope. _Poor things. I really do regret placing them in Glorfindel's tender ministrations._ He shuddered slightly. There was great doubt that he'd ever see them again.

The twins shifted nervously, lowering their eyes back down to the ground.

"Errr…no?"

Behind them, Elrond could see a vein throb at the pink haired captain's temple.

The Elf-Lord sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he opened his eyes once more, the twines were gazing at him, unabashedly pleading for their lives. He felt himself breaking under the onslaught. The twins, for how young they were, had already developed many different looks and expressions engineered specifically to get them out of-or into-trouble. At the moment his boys were wearing their Please-don't-kill-us-we're-too-young-to-die looks of guilt and innocence. It was almost enough to sway the powerful Elven-Lord. Yet one glance at the once-golden tresses of his friend was enough to sober him as much as one of Erestor's long-winded speeches.

_As much as I would like to reward them for a job well-done, Glorfindel would send me to the Halls of Mandos_.

He mustered his resolve and gave the twins a Look, crushing all hopes of being released. "As your punishement, you will aid Lord Glorfindel until he deems you properly repentant." Horror flitted across their identical faces. Elrohir looked as if he were trying not to choke while Elladan just stared at his father in white faced shock. Behind them, the Gondolin Elf almost purred in satisfaction. _And that is the epitome of evil._ He could only watch in helplessness as his enthusiastic captain dragged the quivering twins away with him. He had consigned his children to death.

_Ah, well, there's always the other one on the way._

* * *

"A week! A whole Valar-given week!" Elrohir moaned to his minutes-older brother. "And no end in sight." They had managed to escape from the clutches of the Elf-Lord, at least for the moment. "If I never see another report again, it will be too soon."

His twin, squeezed next to him in a most uncomfortable position, gave an undignified snort. "I wouldn't count on that, Ro. He's going to find us again sooner or later, and when he does…" He let the ominous threat linger in the darkened room.

Elrohir shivered nervously. "You are depressing me Dan. I don't ever want to see the inside of his office again." He unconsciously moved closer to his brother, seeking solace and support. "I'm going to be traumatized for eternity!"

An unseen, irritated look furrowed Elladan's smooth brow. "Stop your whining! It could be worse."

A dubious voice floated from the darkness. "I really don't want to know…umph!" Elrohir squeaked indignantly as his twin clamped a rough hand about his mouth.

"Be silent! Someone approaches….Aiieee!" A screech of pain and fury was let loose as the younger elf bit his brother's offensive appendage. Elladan rubbed the injured spot, as if willing the hurt away. "What'd you do that for, orc-brain?"

Before the impulsive younger twin could reply, the door of their hiding place swung open. The light flooding in silhouetted the figure in the door way and blinded the twins with its bright radiance.

"Now Elladan, what have I told you about swearing?" The musical tones of their mother reached the terrified brothers, who clung to each other desperately.

"Oh naneth, please don't tell Glorfindel we're in here. We're so tired of working for him." Celebrian smiled slightly at the sight of her elflings. They were quite adorable, quivering in fear, their slender forms wrapped about each other.

"Actually, I came to see if you wished to join me on an outing. Your adar is busy, but I daresay you wouldn't mind spending a bit of time with your naneth." Her smile broadened as the boys, grey eyes dancing with joy, hugged her tightly, gently placing dark heads against the rounded contours of her stomach to feel their new baby brother or sister's life stir beneath their touches. Their mother glanced down at them lovingly. She was so blessed! Yes, they were utter terrors, but they were the life of Imladris, the bright flame of youth amidst an ancient race.

"Well, come along. Arasse knows an excellent glade in which we can have lunch." She had to laugh as her sons bounded out the door and towards the courtyard where their small escort waited with loud whoops.

* * *

"My lord."

Elrond immediately stopped his frantic pacing in his study. Celebrian and the boys had promised to be back by mid-afternoon. The sun was on its way down before he had sent out search parties seeking the missing family and their escort. Now the sky had long since darkened, brightened only by the unwavering light of the stars.

"Where are they? Are they alright? Has anything happened to them?" His desperate pleas unnerved the guard, who had never seen his lord so distraught before.

It was with tears in his eyes that the younger elf told his lord the devastating news. "We found the bodies of the escort, hir nîn, slain by orcs. There was no sign of either your wife or your children."


	2. Greenwood the Great

**Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing. **

**A/N: This is an AU. It tells the stories of Greenwood, Imladris, and Lothlorien, of the troubles found in their relations, and of the bonds formed by their youngest members that will shape the fate of Arda. It is a series, and will eventually explain why some of the characters in The Lord of the Rings are the way they are. Please read and review, but no flames. Your comments will help me to becomea better writer. **

Chapter Two- Greenwood

"Legolas, stop fidgeting. It is not appropriate behavior." The young elf stilled instantly under the stern reprimand of his father.

"Sorry adar," he muttered, slumping in his seat once more. A sigh, loud enough to be heard from across the table, issued forth from his corner as he loosed his anxiety and boredom. His three older brothers exchanged amused glances before turning back to their own plates. His father just shook his golden head.

"Thranduil, stop that." His mother's soft, melodious voice, gentle as the wind dancing through new spring leaves, floated across the table. "He is excited. And why should he not be? This is the first time you are allowing him out with only Ôlvaethor as a guardian." Her blue eyes, bright as the polished sapphires treasured so by her husband, glimmered conspicuously as they landed upon her fourth and last child. A worried expression marred the smooth marble of her face, accentuated by waves of midnight dark hair. At the moment, Legolas was moving his uneaten meal about on his plate, painstakingly dividing it into little piles to channel his boredom.

She sighed softly and placed her own fork down upon her own half-finished food, ignoring the concerned looks sent her way by her husband. She was nervous; there was no doubt about that. The forest had grown darker. Greenwood the Great was disappearing, would soon be lost amidst the shadows of the past. The Silvan elves who lived amongst its once unsurpassable beauty now felt and saw the creeping darkness, felt the first fingers of despair touch their souls with chill malice.

Yet no aid came from their kith. The terse relations between Greenwood and the other realms had strained to the breaking point. The final blow from the double-edged sword had arrived with the Last Alliance, severing all ties that once were. The pride of Greenwood's king would not bow to alleviate such bitter animosity, even when it meant the welfare of his realm. This pride would be their downfall. She felt it, heard the trees whisper and the wind moan of the fate of the land. And her child, her golden child, was caught in the center of the gathering dark of a dimming world.

Her precious child, with her own delicate features and brilliant polished eyes, her sweet, gentle temperament mixed with stalwart determination, but the fine spun gold hair of his father as well as the king's impatience and fiery will. They all had fire, these four sons of Thranduil, yet only the older three had also inherited his legendary temper.

Golden-haired green eyed Ôlvaethor, crown prince of the realm, gifted in all aspects of life, the pride and joy of his father and his people.

Good natured Sùlaur was second, dark, with sea green eyes changing to suit his passionate personality, his handsome face a unique combination of his parents.

Aerlind, the third son, had been born a thousand years before Legolas, with ebony hair and flashing blue eyes that more often than not revealed his uncurbed impatience and fiery nature; argumentative and rebellious at the best of times.

They were the hope for the future, the light that guided their people through the dark. And now it was time to let her youngest, her _laes_, to step forward away from her loving cocoon and take the first strides upon life's road.

Oh, but it was so difficult! So much pain and loss. Her heart could not take anymore. Two she had lost already, their deaths creating an empty void in her heart that none could fill. To let go now, acknowledge that her baby, her _laes_, was growing up, would only open the road for more grief and despair. But she knew he had to leave eventually. She could not hide him from the world, much as she would like to. It had taken much persuasion to get her husband, who governed the family with an indomitable if loving hand, to allow Ôlvaethor to take his youngest brother deeper into Greenwood. Finally, though, he had relented.

"Ôlvaethor, will you hurry? You are slower than Aerlind's stallion in a race!" Legolas's patience had finally worn thin. His breakfast lay in front of him, forgotten in the face of a thrilling adventure. A delicate flush tinted his fair cheeks, accentuating the brilliance of his blue eyes. Such youthful innocence brought the familiar prickle of tears to gather behind her dark lashes.

The third prince's eyes tightened almost imperceptibly, a sign of his quickly flaring temper. "_Laes gwador_, you should not insult your elders in such a matter, nor your family. After all, it is I who you shall have to live with for the rest of your noticeably shortened life."

Sùlaur gave an ungainly snort, earning a sharp reprimanding glance from his father. The delicate points of his ears reddened in discomfiture. Realizing that her family was well on its way to destroying the dining hall along with what little of Thranduil's sanity remained, she rose with an innate grace, instantly silencing any arguments. Her family, in respect, followed suit.

"Ôlvaethor, I believe that you have a promise to keep to Legolas." She kissed her eldest upon his golden brow. In turn, he gently kissed her upon her cheek, his emerald gaze missing nothing of the fear imprinted upon her face.

"Worry not, naneth. I will keep him safe. He will live to come home to you. This I swear on my life."

Her smile did not warm the depths of her eyes. "I pray it does not come to that." He bowed to her before turning to bid his father farewell.

"Legolas," she whispered, enfolding her youngest in a tight embrace. He smelled of the forest; of sunshine and mist, hope and promise. She wanted to remember this moment forever, locking it away into an eternity of memories. It would end all too soon. But for now, he was here, her own precious child.

"Naneth," he hissed, his lithe body wriggling within her grasp. Her husband stifled a smile behind a long, fine-boned hand. Her elder sons once more exchanged amused glances amongst themselves.

"Legolas, look at me." He stilled instantly beneath the weight of her firm tone. "You are to listen to Ôlvaethor. Stay close to him, and heed all he says. You are not to endanger yourself recklessly." She lifted his chin with one hand, staring into eyes so like her own. "I love you,_ lass dithen_."

She released him with the greatest of reluctance, watching as he received his father's benediction. She watched as he took leave along with his older brother, gathering their weapons and packs. And she watched, clinging tightly to her husband as a lifeline, as her little leaf took the first steps past the palace gates and onto the path of his destiny.

"What kind of bird is that?" Legolas's curious young voice rang out against the silence of the woods about them.

Ôlvaethor turned from setting up their camp to see where his brother's attention was focused. Not seeing him anywhere, even with his heightened Elven senses, he called out. "_Laes_, where have you gone?"

A slight rustling of the leaves above his head was the only herald to his younger brother's arrival. The fair haired young elfling alighted upon the ground much like a bird himself, eyes dancing in mischief. The elder Elf knew that this had been an excellent idea. Though extremely young, Legolas already excelled at archery, and was more than capable with the knives strapped upon his back. More than that, he seemed more alive than the crown prince had ever seen his younger brother. He was meant for nature, at one with his surroundings as if it were more a home than the palace.

"What did I say about traveling alone?" The elder prince's stern reprimand did not deter the smile upon the younger Elf's fair features.

"Oh, but I did not travel far. Only up, towards the sky. Oh, it is truly vast up there! I have never seen anything so enormous in all of my life!"

Ôlvaethor could not help but smile at that innocent remark stated in awe. "A Valar, and that would be all of a century?"

Legolas opened his mouth to reply, but was instantly silenced by his older brother, who had gone as still as the trees about them. The forest was strangely hushed. Nothing stirred. Not even the leaves rustled as the wind passed through them.

They had no warning when it struck. Legolas felt a slight stinging on his neck before spiraling downwards into the fearful darkness of oblivion.

Laes-baby, Legolas's nickname

Lass dithen- little leaf

Ôlvaethor- warrior dream,

Sùlaur- morning wind

Aerlind- sea chant


	3. Lothlorien

A/N: Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! That is what truly keeps an author going. I would especially like to extend my gratitude to Navaer Lalaith, who gave me some much needed pointers in Elvish. So check out Chapter Two, cause a bunch of stuff has been changed concerning Elven names. Now, there is one detail I would like to go into, as there seemed to be a misunderstanding about it.

Concerning Elven Age: In my story arc, the age that Elves truly come of age is 500, when they are fully trained and prepared to journey down the path of life that they have chosen. It's basically going from novice to master. The first coming of age is when they are 50, around the equivalence of 10 in human years. This is when they choose what they are going to train to become.

I would also like to state that since the Elves in this book are so young, there will be no romance. None! If you would like to see summaries for my future stories in this arc, check out my bio page. And yes, I will get them all finished. I am a dedicated writer.

Disclaimer: I only own Liranar.

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Chapter Three- Lothlorien 

"Still she slumbers." The remark issued from his wife was a statement. Never did the Lady Galadriel question anything. Steadfast, all knowing; an anchor when all else fell into turmoil. Her aura of power and mystery, of vast wisdom found only within the depths of time, and her radiance compared to that of the Morning Star set her apart from the world, inspiring awe and fear in whoever should cross her. Yet it did nothing to alienate the love of her husband and their subsequent brood. Indeed, she returned that love fiercely, with a passion found in no other aspect of her life, which, if threatened, held devastating consequences.

"Yes, meleth nìn. But that is no cause for concern. Or have you forgotten that it was she who kept the camp awake for more than half the night with her antics?" He gently brushed the moon-pale silver hair from the delicate elfling seated before him. Looking up from his ministrations, the Lord of the Golden Wood met the anxious blue eyes of his wife, the only sign of her true emotions in a face that could have been carved from the purest white marble. So possessive was she of this youngest daughter, who had come when they had forsaken all hope of ever having another. Celebrìan had left long before to wed Elrond of Imladris, raising her own family and beginning life anew. Though she frequently visited the land of her birth, it was not the same. The twins lit the lives of their daernaneth, yet their visits were spaced between great lengths. Thus, Galadriel had thrown herself against the growing shadow, ruthlessly uprooting any small seed that managed to worm its way near her beloved wood. Celeborn had feared for his wife, of losing her to the chill embrace of despair.

But hope had arrived. Barely a half of a century before they had been blessed once more with child. All of Lorien, and indeed Imladris, rejoiced at the coming of a young she-Elf, one of the few born in these dark times. Galadriel's joy in life had been rekindled by her little flame, a fiery whirlwind of elation and stubborn determination unmatched by any other. Terror could not begin to describe the result of placing the silver-haired elfling with the dark Noldor twins of Imladris. He shuddered inwardly at the thought.

His golden wife's demeanor changed instantly from anxious to amused. _I believe you do have a reason to fear, beloved. They are quite troublesome._

He snorted, so unlike the elegant Elf-lord his subjects thought him to be that several turned around in their saddles to give him incredulous looks. Any forthcoming remarks were immediately silenced by their lord's flashing silver-blue eyes and his lady's soft laughter.

Their daughter stirred slightly within his strong embrace. Her eyes, a vibrant blue so deep they seemed almost violet in hue, focused as her dark lashes fluttered, signaling her awakening. Lìranar peered up at her father accusingly, flames smoldering in their indigo depths.

"Ada, you told me that it is unladylike to do that." She cocked her head, reminiscent of a predator eying prey. It was times like these that his angelic-faced daughter reminded him of the more dangerous aspects of her mother.

He winced as he felt his wife's reprimanding ire descend upon him. These two females were far too alike for his comfort. One was well enough, but two? Where was the male race when back up was needed? His wardens were all but useless, bound by fear of the lady's great power. Celebrìan had once stood with him, smiling that sweet smile of hers, melting past her mother's exterior with her innocence. But she was gone, with children of her own to manage. _Which leaves me to face these two alone._

_Yes, and we shall never let you forget that. Now set an appropriate example for your daughter._

He resisted the urge to snort again. _You mean _your _daughter, meleth._ Her golden laughter once more echoed within the depths of his mind.

Fortunately he was saved from further embarrassment by Lìranar, of all Elves. Or rather, elflings. Earnestly brushing her errant silver hair from her eyes, she began chattering to him excitedly, energized by the lengthy rest gained while in her father's arms. One would almost forget that she was approaching her coming of age, when she would choose which path she would start upon, what she would be for the rest of her life. A warrior was out of the question. After the Last Alliance, with the devastation wrought upon Elven-kind, there was no possibility that Galadriel would allow their beloved youngest daughter to tread upon such a destructive and ultimately sorrow-filled road. There would be only death if their little flame was allowed to follow that destiny. And neither would he let her.

The powerful Elven-lord remembered the day that his child was born. It had been spring, as it was now. The golden mallorns had been in bloom, their sweet scent permeating throughout the fair realm. Celebrìan and Elrond had come, with their young twins nearing their own coming of age, just as much of a handful then. He had been pacing nervously below the talan in which he and his wife resided, listening to her occasional screams as she struggled to bring forth their second child. The twins had run rampant through the glade until Haldir and his brothers took them out into the depths of Lothlorien for "exploration purposes", otherwise known as a successful tactic for keeping the royal menaces from causing too much destruction. Elrond, along with most of the denizens of the Golden Wood, had watched in something akin to amusement as his father-in-law paced frantically until his daughter took pity on her poor adar and had given him some miruvor to calm him down. It was then that the first wailing cries floated from the ethereal talan, heralding the entrance of new life. Silence had reigned, even with the inhabitants of Caras Galadhron out to witness the birth of the new child of their lord and lady; their hope for the future. At that he had raced up the stairs, as fleet as a deer, heedless of the impression he was making upon his subjects.

The healer had showed him into the room, bowing low and giving him a wide smile, so unusual for her reserved character. She had then exited, leaving the lord alone with his exhausted wife and the bundle that she had cradled gently within her arms.

Galadriel looked up at him then. Her golden hair, dampened from her labours, spread about her in a glimmering fan of spangled light. Her blue eyes, so full of wisdom and enigma, were open, allowing him to see past her normal façade to the deep love and passion she held for life. She had never been more beautiful than at that moment. She had beckoned him closer, nodding gently with her head at the tiny being wrapped protectively within her embrace. He had hesitated for a moment before slowly approaching the bed, his eyes never leaving mother and child.

"This is our daughter," she had whispered, her voice hoarse from crying out to bring this life into the world. All of a sudden his view narrowed, to the one tiny creature being passed into his arms. His daughter. Sweet, soft, innocent, still slightly battered from her entrance into the world. Everything was where it was supposed to be, perfect miniatures of an Elf.

Then she had opened her eyes, eyes of such a vivid blue they appeared violet. They had stared at him intently, as if she could see into the very depths of his soul though she had just been born, weighing and judging his worth. And he vowed from that moment on, that moment filled with such love and devotion, that he would never allow anything to happen to his beloved daughter.

"When will we arrive in Imladris? Will Elladan and Elrohir be there? When will Celebrìan's baby arrive? May I hold it? May Glorfindel take us out on patrol with him? Rùmil promised me that he would bring me back a warg cub if I behaved last night."

A fair-haired warrior in the front of the procession choked and stiffened upon his mount as the child's last remark in her torrent of questions reached his sensitive ears. He paled noticeably under the fiery intensity of his lord and lady's gazes, seeming to burn a whole through him. The wardens on either side of Rùmil gave him looks full of pity and mock-sorrow for his remarkably shortened immortal life. None encouraged hazardous behavior in the young daughter of the Golden Wood without themselves being fed to the wargs.

"Aì, gwador nìn, but I did warn you of the consequences for promising her that." His brother Orophin's whisper made an attempt at a hushed conversation. Their other companion remained passionless except for the slight twitch of the muscles about the corner of his mouth.

The unfortunate Elf's back was straight as an oak. "But I feared for our rest. And it was you who gave her the sip of miruvor in the first place." Ororphin's fair face flushed a brilliant crimson as he stuttered upon the words on his tongue as the others who made up the contingent watched in amusement as the antics of the two brothers delved them deeper into trouble.

Galadriel shook her golden head. "I believe that our wardens are broken. A pity. I thought them to be possessing of at least some sanity."

Celeborn laughed aloud at his wife's words, drawing the attention away from Rùmil and Orophin and onto himself. "Meleth nìn, you have spent one millennia too many married to me."

* * *

"My lord, my lady, if it pleases you we will rest here for the night." Laegast, the warden in command of the expedition to Imladris, bowed in deference to the noble Elves. He was quiet and thoughtful, deadly with a sword instead of his tongue. The only passion that he allowed himself to truly show was around his young bride, and Lìranar, who could literally charm the very birds out of the trees. That was if she managed to restrain her temper in the process. 

_She should have been born a child of the House of Oropher._ He quickly banished this thought as he nodded his acquiescence to Laegast. He would not allow this joyous occasion to be ruined by thoughts of his Silvan kin.

Turning his thoughts outwards, he watched the comforting rhythm of setting up camp, performed with grace as were all of the actions of the Eldar. Some were laying out the bedrolls for those who would sleep upon the ground. Others were tending the horses, feeding them and turning them loose for the night. They would be back before the rising of the dawn. Rùmil was bent over the ground with Celeborn's argent-haired elfling, teaching her how to properly light a cooking fire in an attempt to distract her from her earlier thought-path.

His wife was nowhere to be seen. Even for an Elf it was difficult to disappear from twenty trained warriors, a knowing husband, and a keen sensed daughter. He closed his eyes and _reached_ out to Galadriel, feeling a faint reply as if in reluctance or distraction. Yet it was enough to set him on the correct trail.

The woods were silent this night. Nothing stirred, not even the occasional nocturnal creature or the rustling of the wind through the eaves. Something was wrong. He quickened his pace in an attempt to reach his wife. They needed to leave.

He saw her on the ground, bent over a pool of water. The liquid stirred with unnatural images, a testament that Galadriel was using her abilities. He waited, a silent sentinel standing guard against the darkness that seemed to be bearing down upon the radiant Elf-woman.

All of a sudden she staggered, and would have fallen in if Celeborn had not been there to catch her. She trembled against him, gaining strength and support from his presence.

"Darkness," she whispered hoarsely, the brilliance of her vivid blue eyes opened wide in horror. "Shadows swiftly approaching. They shall take our hope, our light. If they do, we shall fall."

A distant scream shattered the once eerie quiet of the night. A palpable wave of dark obscurity rolled over them in a thunderous torrent, leaving them upon the ground.

"It is here!" The terror in his wife's voice was a tangible thing. She could sense something wrong, terribly wrong. It manifested itself with her cry of "Lìranar!" before she plunged back the way they had come. It was a desperate race, doomed to failure before it had even begun.

They reached the camp, the silence having once more descended upon the wood. Not a soul stirred. Kneeling down besides one of the warriors, Celeborn checked for a pulse and a breath. They were both there, if faint. Whatever had occurred had struck quickly, leaving no time for retaliation by the agile beings.

A groan alerted them that at least one of their contingency had returned to awareness. Galadriel quickly bent over the prone form of Rùmil, bringing a skin of water to his lips which he partook of before turning away.

"Hir nìn," he gasped, shivering violently. "I….I have f-failed you." A silver tear leaked down the side of his smooth cheek.

"No you have not," she whispered soothingly, brushing the fair hair from his eyes. "Just tell me what has occurred here."

"Shadows…darkness…don't remember much…Aì!" His cry rang through the woods much as Galadriel's had earlier. "They took her! They took Lìranar!" was his last exclamation before sinking into oblivion.


	4. Dark Meetings

A/N: Sorry this update is late. The network wouldn't let me log on. Poll: Would you rather longer chapters and less frequent updates, or chapters of this length with regular updates? REVIEW! Thanks:-)

Chapter Four- Dark Meetings

They did not know for how long they had been there, huddled against one another against the impenetrable murk. The passage of time was marked by the routine arrival of barely edible food and stale water shoved through the black iron bars of their cage, made palatable only by desperation.

Screams, terrified, hideous beyond all reason and comprehension, would awaken them from what little rest they could find. The young twins would press closer to their mother's awkward bulk in a futile attempt to block the soul-shattering howls, so full of pain, broken beyond all recognition, from their sensitive ears. Elladan's small body trembled as Elrohir looked on, dark eyes wide as those of a deer caught in a trap.

Yet they held on to life's frail thread, finding solace in the lilting silvered voice of Lothlorien's eldest daughter. She would sing to her raven haired children of the shining light of Anor, of the pale luminescence of Ithil; of the green grass and the wind's song through the eaves of spring trees, of her joy in the past and her hope for the future. She sang to her unborn child, telling he or she of the world beyond dank stone, magnificence unparalleled outside the bounds of shadows and darkness. She wove tales spun of the fragile gossamer strands between light and dark, ancient battles of the Eldar pitted against Evil and themselves, of Glorfindel of Gondolin and how he had slain the Balrog of Morgoth, of Earendil the Mariner their grandfather, and their adar's own twin Elros who had long ago chosen to tread upon the lonely path of mortality.

They listened, no more than the frightened elflings they were, resting their dark heads against her swollen stomach for comfort. But there was courage to be found lingering in the grey depths of their wide eyes, a fire that would not be quenched no matter the situation. And so they remained, clinging to the promise of light once more.

* * *

Five times had they been given the near-inedible food and drink when the door of their cell swung open upon its rusted, grime filled hinges with an ear-splitting groan of protest, as if it too abhorred this place. Celebrìan gathered her two children to her, sure that their captors had come to complete their loathsome task. She despaired. Her children had not yet begun to live. The young one in her womb had not even the opportunity to breathe its first. Her adar and naneth would be devastated, but they had Lìranar to pull them through their grief. 

Elrond, though….

Her poor husband would not long survive the loss of his family.

It was to her astonishment when, instead of finding themselves upon the sharp end of a blade, two figures, distorted and grotesque as only orcs could be, entered with their shuffling gait, dragging behind them two golden haired bodies.

The smaller being was tossed in like so much refuse, tumbling until it came to a halt before where they were huddled, a frail, unmoving bundle in the center of the floor. The larger of the two they cruelly chained by the neck, wrists, and ankles to the far wall before letting it drop into a graceless, boneless heap. A snarl was aimed towards the three Imladris Eldar, the foul orc baring rotten and yellowed teeth before they exited, their shambling steps echoing through the darkened corridors.

Yet before their captors were out of the hearing range of their Elven ears, the Noldor twins had crept forward to investigate the unmoving pile of cloth and limbs. Even such blatant darkness and evil could not stem the curiosity from the precocious elflings' young minds.

She joined them, crawling on hands and knees upon the floor, covered with what she didn't to think about. The twins were already curiously prodding the still form. She gently brushed back the tangled fall of golden hair, revealing the pale, delicate face of an elfling even younger than her own. _A Silva_, she thought with consternation, before roughly shoving those thoughts aside. This was not the time to bring up long standing prejudices. But what interested her was his coloring. It was not dark, as Wood Elves were wont to be. Rather, it was the radiant color of her own Sindar ancestry. _A half-blood, then. Interesting._

She was startled out of her reverie by Elladan's soft voice. "Nana, he's no older than us. What do they want with him?"

"I know not, penneth," she murmured, softly stroking the silken hair once more. "But we should check for any injuries. Do you remember what your ada told you about healing?" Elladan nodded his acquiescence. "I want you to hold his head in your lap. Elrohir, it is rude to stare as you have been. Go fetch the rest of the water." With that she turned her compassionate ministrations upon the young Silva before her. Running her fine-boned hands upon his lithe body, she found no swelling nor any broken bones. The worst was a few bruises and scrapes.

"Naneth!" Elladan hissed, lifting the sun-bright hair from the elfling's neck. A fiery red, oozing sore contasted starkly with the bleached skin. Ripping a piece of fabric from the sleeve of her now tattered and threadbare dress, she tenderly dabbed at it with the water Elrohir had brought over, binding the wound with another, cleaner strip of linen. It appeared as if the young Elf had been struck by a poisoned dart, which would account for his unconscious state. Only time would tell if it was fatal or not. She doubted it, though. Too many risks had been taken to capture them. If they had not died by now, then there was little chance that their captors would allow them to before their purpose, however dark, was fulfilled.

It was Elrohir who breached the silence that had been built as she tended their young companion. "Nana, is he from Lothlorien? He seems different from the Galadhrim."

"Indeed not. He appears to be a Silva, from Greenwood."

Elladan's eyes widened at that pronouncement. "But everyone says that the Silvan are bad."

"Not bad. They do not follow the dark, so they cannot be wholly evil. They are different from us. We do not understand them, and what we do not understand we fear."

Elrohir's dark eyes flashed as his temper flared. "Ada is never afraid!"

She smiled, pulling her child against her. "He always fears, ion nin. He fears for you and me and the new baby, because he loves all of us. So you have to be brave for him. Show him that you have courage, even when everything is dark."

Elrohir curled closer to his mother. "I promise, nana. I won't be afraid." Elladan made a face at his brother. "Well, maybe just a little."

Their moment was interrupted by the stirring of the larger Silvan Elf. A low moan and the rattling of iron manacles heralded his imminent awakening. The Lady of Imladris kept a firm hand upon the slim shoulders of both of her sons as the Elf's emerald eyes, clouded by foreign substances in his body system, slowly peeked from beneath dark lashes.

"Legolas." The quiet word was uttered somewhere between a whisper and a desperate plea. He raised his golden head, a few shades darker than the young elfling's, before sinking back and clutching at the throbbing appendage with another groan.

Celebrìan rose, using the dank walls to support her awkward frame. The Silvan Elf looked up as she approached with a wet strip of cloth, his body tensing with the encroaching proximity of an unidentified person. It did not pass unnoticed by her keen grey eyes. She pressed a slender hand against his sweat laden, fevered forehead, imparting cool serenity and peace into his chaotic mind. His eyes focused upon her, shining like Anor against a darkened backdrop. He felt new strength course through his veins, enough to straighten on his own power. His gaze bore into her own steel rimmed one, unknowingly allowing her access into the depths of his mind.

She saw this strong, proud warrior for who he truly was. Memories engulfed her, at once comforting and frightening. Laughter and green sunlight filtering through the eaves, to swiftly be replaced by black slopes sown with the bodies and blood of his own kin. Sorrow, unadulterated and unquenched, filled his very being, to be lightened by the joy of new life. Through all there were two figures, one dark, filled with compassion and the cool, soothing essence of the forest; the other commanding and blazing with a fierce spangle of golden fire.

"Child of Thranduil, I shall not harm you." The voice within him, gentle as the underside of a new life, powerful as the breath of a dragon, came from the radiant she-Elf standing before him. Her grey eyes, shining with starlight and wisdom, promised no evil as long as she drew breath. Stricken, he hung suspended by chains of iron and Time, captured by her ethereal beauty.

The cold metallic tinge of reality pressing against his wrists and neck rudely jerked him to the present. Remembrance engulfed him, a wave of fear.

"Legolas? Gwador nìn, mas bant? Man le? Le sì am man theled?" His frantic mind raced with the thought that perhaps his beloved youngest brother was dead. _A Valar, I have failed. I swore to naneth that I would protect him, and I have failed._

The sword-sharp eyes of the golden woman softened as she reached out to calm him, stoking his head gently as before. Her melodious voice flowed over him, soothing wounds both physical and emotional. "Worry not, ernil nìn. Your brother fares no worse than you." It was then that she moved her swollen frame, allowing him to glimpse fair hair and a pale face.

Panic once more overcame him. "Legolas!" He threw himself against the chains which bound him, indifferent to the fact that the rough iron was bruising and chafing his delicate skin.

A groan elicited from the younger Elf, his head still cradled in Elladan's lap. "Ôlvaethor," he murmured thickly. Crystalline blue eyes flashed from beneath dark lashes.

The elder prince regained control of himself. It was as if he were another person, so absolute was the change from desperate prisoner to stalwart prince. "Be not afraid, lass dithen. I am here for you."

A scuffle broke out amongst the three elflings as Legolas grew conscious.

"Õlvaethor, where are you? Let me go!" His battling grew more vicious. The lady could see Elladan trembling from the effort of containing the Silva and Elrohir growing frustrated by their patient's lack of cooperation.

"Sidh." The one word, enforced by a touch of power, was enough to calm the heated conflict and bring both drug-clouded Elves to full awareness. "You shall not be harmed," she repeated once more. "Courage is needed to see us through the dark. Stay strong, and we shall prevail."

* * *

They slept through the period between the scant scraps of food and drink, Noldor and Silvan supporting each other as had not been seen in ages. The elflings were young enough, and frightened enough, to breach any barriers that might have arisen earlier. The two elder Elves, out of respect and knowledge that they could not survive alone, banded together. They had earlier talked of their situation. The Greenwood warrior was angered to behold the treatment the Elven woman had endured in her condition as Legolas watched with intense blue eyes, cautious and reserved of these sundered kin. 

Fresh peals of despair and agony woke them, causing Legolas to straighten with a cry and Ôlvaethor to grope for weapons no longer situated on his person. Tremors passed through the group.

Celebrìan swiftly thought of a way to distract the young ones from the horrifying howls echoing in the bowls of the earth. "Ernil tithen, would you tell us of Greenwood? We have never had the pleasure of traveling there, and I am sure that Elladan and Elrohir would hear of it."

The young Silva's face had at first been lit with distrust, pale and streaked with grime. Yet as he recounted the memories of his home it fell into a dreamlike quality, enraptured as the two dark Noldor twins on either side of him.

"…and then Aerlind fell out of the tree and onto adar as he was giving his speech for the Autumn Festival, yet it truly wasn't my fault because Sùlaur had given me a goblet of Dorwinion wine and I had never tried any before! Naneth was furious, and adar was ready to banish him, but…"

His soft voice was abruptly cut off by the harsh opening of the cell door once more. There was not even time to react before a small body was thrown in. The bars clanged loudly as it was violently shut, leaving the pale body upon the ground.

The size of the figure, the moon-silver hair, and the dark blue eyes beginning to open, along with the astonishing swear words that delighted the three male elflings, alerted Celebrìan to who it was.

"Lìranar, do not use such language."

The youngest daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn stared with wide eyes at her older sister. "Celebrìan! Elladan. Elrohir." She flung herself at the familiar faces, clutching desperately at anything to give her reassurance. Her gaze narrowed as it alighted upon the two others, and the pointed chin jutted out in challenge. "And two Silvan Elves. What do they want with us?"

A voice, shadowed, the absence of light, spoke from the impenetrable gloom outside of their cage. "Why, you are my guests, little lady."

* * *

Gwador nìn, mas bant? Man le? Le sì am man theled?- My brother, where did he go? Who are you? Why are you here? 

Ernil dithen- little prince

Lass dithen- little leaf

Sidh- peace

* * *

In other words, I will not be able to post for a little while. Classes are crazy, so the first week of May is when you should look for another post.

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	5. Revelations and Despair

A/N: Hi. Sorry it took so long to update and all of that. It's just been really hectic, and the lack of reviews is depressing. Anyway, here's the next chapter, and another one should follow pretty soon, as I'm already halfway through with it. If you want more, please review!

Disclaimer: I can dream.

* * *

Chapter Five- Revelations and Despair

"Hir nìn, the scouts have returned. They have seen an encampment over the next ridge, of what appears to be the delegation from Lothlorien." There was no flicker of acknowledgement within the depths of the midnight-black eyes. Glorfindel hesitated, staring intently at his silent lord, before continuing. "There is something wrong, hir nìn. Nothing stirs in camp, and we could discern no sentry."

Silence reigned for a few moments after this revelation. The younger Noldo gazed unseeing into the distance, a hand upon the hilt of his sword, as if he could will his loved ones back by force of thought alone. It had been a month since they had disappeared, leaving behind the empty husk which had once housed the spirit of a noble Elf-Lord. It had fled with them, all strength and power poured into this one task. Imladris had turned out in support, enraged at the audacity of anyone to harm their beloved ruling family. The loss of any Eldar was difficult to bear, yet the loss of such young lives was a tragedy indeed. Patrols had scoured the Misty Mountains, even going beyond the boundaries of Greenwood in their quest. No aid came from their Silvan kin. But they could feel resentful, bitter eyes bore through them, as cruel as orken daggers, as they traveled along the edge of the vast forest. Not even their kith from the Grey Havens or Lothlorien to the east had joined the search for the missing family, for no response came to the messengers that Elrond had sent in a last desperate attempt.

There was nothing to show for it, though. Not a trace had been left for supposition to their whereabouts. Elrond was sinking farther into despair, fading from the light as his hope grew dimmer with each passing day. He was unable to see them. For all of the occurrences of the world he knew of beforehand, for all of the power wielded by himself, he could not see those he cherished most. And so he sank farther into the pits of despair.

His people were growing desperate. Already they had lost their lady, heavy with child, and her twin sons. Would they soon lose their lord as well?

"Hir nìn? Elrond?" Glorfindel's gentle yet commanding voice penetrated the dark Elf's thoughts. No, he could not think. There was too much pain, hidden beneath the façade of carved marble. It would overwhelm him if he allowed himself to dwell upon the tragedy that had befallen him. His soul was lost, but he would not allow his fea to pass into the Halls of Mandos until he knew the final fate of his loved ones.

When he at last spoke, it was devoid of emotion, as flat and featureless as a smooth plane of water. "We proceed with all due caution. I want the camp approached from all sides until the threat is determined." With the sparse commands of his lord ringing through his ears, Glorfindel led the patrol of Imladris Elves forth.

It was as if they had never been there, camped beneath the ironic benediction of the heavens.

* * *

No movement stirred the area about the position around which the dark-haired Noldor were silently congregating. Indeed, the motionless bodies belonged to their kin of the Goldenwood, for even then could they determine familiar features amidst the deathlike trances of the golden Elves. Tension so palpable it could be sliced through with a sharpened sword emanated from the approaching group, fear that they had arrived too late to be of aid.

"Unfortunate is our time of meeting, Elrond of Imladris. Shadow dims your light. A great tragedy has befallen you as well, yet what it is has been hidden from my sight." The voice of Galadriel rang soft and true amidst the silence of the glade. The party of warriors bowed in deference to the ancient lady, whose memory went beyond that of any here to the Exile of the Noldor and the Kinslaying. She stepped forward with outspread hands, golden in her radiance, yet a radiance that was dimmed. Sorrow lined her unsurpassed features, darkening its ethereal beauty. "What is it that troubles you, husband of my daughter?"

Elrond moved forth, taking one of the Lady's slender hands to place a chaste kiss upon it. "I should ask that of you, my lady. For why does your escort lie as if dead?"

Galadriel turned and pressed her slender palm to her face, as if to banish the occurrences of the past fortnight. The gesture was unexpected for the normal poise and stoic calm of the lady, leaving a feeling of incomprehensible dread over the assembly.

"My lady?" The Noldo lord's voice was gentle, recognizing the same grief that had plagued him for over a moon.

"My visions had plagued me that night. Celeborn came to find me, knowing I had seen what was to be. Yet we arrived back too late. They had struck without warning, covering all in an impenetrable darkness. They took…" Her voice faltered, mingling with unquenchable rage and sorrow. "They took nìn naur. They took my Lìranar where we could not follow, for there were no tracks." The tears flowed unchecked upon the Lady's moon pale face. The Lord of Imladris was moved to her plight, for he bore only additional heartache to place on her already burdened soul. (my flame)

"And what of your escort, my lady? Have they been like this since that night?"

"Yes," she whispered. "They have moved naught, neither fading nor living. It is as if they are caught between the darkness and the light." He heard her in his mind, barely grasping the whispered words. _Even Nenya and the power of the Eldar could not dispel the shadows. But perhaps two may work where one cannot. _Her blue gaze pierced him, boring through with a soul-searing intensity. He opened himself to her, allowing her to see the events that had transpired over the past moon.

Those blue eyes, once alight with fire, became iced over as frost upon water, cold and unrelenting. He felt her withdraw, the chill lifting from him to leave him devoid of all warmth or comfort.

"Glorfindel," she said, with the icy breath of winter, "Set a perimeter around the glade. Lord Celeborn should be back soon. Elrond and I are not to be disturbed." With that, she turned and disappeared into the surrounding wood, a creature of golden flame and overpowering cold, the Lord of Imladris a brooding shadow accompanying her.

* * *

_My lady, do you know what that shadow was? For it took both Nenya and Vilya to break its hold._ Elrond stared pensively into the dancing flames of the fire.

_Nay. Even in all of my years, I have seen naught like this. Able to lay a hold of twenty Eldar and keep two of the most powerful of the Elven race at bay._ The heat of the flames could not affect the wall forged by the Ice Queen.

Night had fallen, casting its dark pall about the encampment. Lord Celeborn had returned, but from where he did not say. Yet even in his grief, the Silver Lord was far more approachable than the Golden Lady, whose wrath was barely contained. It was hours after his arrival, when dusk had already settled, that the invalid warriors of Lorien had awoken from their trance between life and death. They could not tell of what had happened, nor where Lìranar had been taken. The added news of the disappearances of the Lady Celebrìan and her children had only served to anger the wearied Eldar further, for they had all taken upon themselves for the loss of their Lord and Lady's youngest. Now, it seemed, hope was fast flying out the door, for such attacks could not be without purpose.

Elrond's dark eyes reflected the flickering light. _I fear that only ill will come of this._ Galadriel could sense his underlying thoughts. He had given up hope, for he could no longer sense his wife's vibrant fea. He believed them dead.

A cry from the Elves on watch startled all in the glade. The warriors of both Lothlorien and Imladris reached for readily available weapons as the tension grew even more palpable. Celeborn gave his wife a short nod before striding to join Glorfindel where the cry had come from, his moon-pale silver hair shining with radiant luminescence. They waited, swords drawn and bows nocked, as silent and still as mountains hidden by fog.

An orc was thrown into the glade, the hideous beast snarling at its treatment. Celeborn followed, his fair face dark with such wrath that few had ever seen before. Much did it take to anger the Silver Lord. Power, ancient as Arda itself, radiated from the noble Sinda, and none had doubt that if he chose, the glade could be laid to waste.

He unsheathed his sword, glimmering as brightly as his hair, the brilliant steel crying for orc blood as redemption as he placed it none too gently at the throat of the beast.

"Give them the message."

The orc hacked and shifted, attempting to remove its neck from the line of the Lord's ire as chill silver eyes bore into it with a vengeance. It bared yellowed fangs, spitting in contempt and with more than a little fear at the overwhelming presence of the ancient Elf-Lord.

"My master sends his greetings," it said, its hoarse voice filled with malicious laughter. "To the Lords of the accursed Elf-Homes. He bids me tell you that you are to hand over to him your realms and leave forever, or your little brats of spawn pay the price." He gnashed his teeth happily at the prospect as the anger of those about him swelled. "If you don't meet with his demands by the end of ten days, he will kill them all!"

Glorfindel stepped forth, deadly in his quietness. "And where is the proof of your claims."

The orc grinned once again, its dark gaze full of morbid delight as it tossed a bundle at Galadriel's feet. She reached for it, unhesitant though it was with certainty that it contained the fate of her loved ones. Its contents tumbled gently into the palm of her hand.

Strands of gold, silver, and ebony were intertwined; locks of hair as vibrant as those of their parents. Her hands trembled. With rage, with despair, with anguish and utter despondency, she stared. Celebrian's sun bright threads, as bright as Galadriel's own. The rich darkness of the twins' hair, mimicking their adar's Noldor coloring. Liranar's gilt silver strands, the same shade that had first attracted her naneth to Celeborn.

A swish and a thud echoed throughout the silent glade, as silver steel gave speed to the tormented being's final journey. Yet only the stars bore witness to the rage of the Eldar that night.

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	6. Don't Be Afraid

Chapter Six- Don't Be Afraid

"You are my guests, elfling. And unless you want something to happen to your friends, you will stay your tongue." The shadows hissed, emanating an Evil not seen in the world since the fall of Sauron. The young Elves instinctively moved towards each other, seeking solace from the overwhelming presence of dread that flooded their small forms.

Yet even in their obvious fear, they did not forget that there were those even more helpless and vulnerable in the cell with them. Celebrìan, delicate face wan from a prolonged captivity, wrapped her slender arms about her protruding abdomen as Olvaethor gently pushed her behind him, the noble lines of the Silva contorted in defiance as fierce as the fire in his emerald eyes. The elflings gathered about them, mimicking the defensive circles of warriors guarding something infinitely precious, a curious yet powerful melding of the gold of Greenwood, the silver of Lothlorien, and the ebony of Imladris.

Celebrìan glimpsed, fleetingly, of those shining features now grown, burning lights with the courage to stand against a tide of encroaching night. They were hope incarnate, the hope of the Elven race. The vision was gone as swiftly as if it had never been, leaving her with the image of four young elflings facing the shadows with an aura of audacity. Their courage touched her, for though they were frightened beyond measure, they refused to allow it to control their actions.

She could see their fates intertwined with one another. Earlier inhibitions had been tossed out the window, the racial boundaries that had sundered their people since the Last Alliance blurred. After all, there were each of the Elven races recognized here. The fair Vanyar, noble Noldor, sea-faring Teleri, quiet Sindar, woodland Silvan; even Man was to be found in the mixture that was brought together in the forms of the young Elves. They stood as one, the prejudices and wrongs of the past forgotten in light of the present desperate situation.

Even more so, it would mark the beginning of a friendship that was to last unto the ending of Iluvutar's Song, and beyond.

The Shadow hissed at the defiance evident in those so young, infuriated by their combined will. The twins paled, skin contrasting sharply with their dark hair, clutching at each other for support as they so often did. Legolas flinched, drawing his breath in sharply before raising his head to gaze once more into the darkness. Lìranar, trembling as a leaf in a gale, lifted her chin defiantly as she tugged upon a loose strand of moon-pale hair. None of them backed down, even as the rage radiated from the night in almost palpable waves.

"Do not make yourselves so comfortable. You shall not live out the week."

Ôlvaethor felt a malicious, malignant stare come to settle upon him. How he wanted to shake! To quail beneath that brutal, tearing onslaught; to break down and sob until he faded from this world. But he remained upright, the pride passed down from his willful father not allowing him to acquiesce to his defeat. Too, he felt the cerulean eyes of his younger brother upon him, felt the warm press of the slender young body against his own. The Crown Prince had made an oath to his parents, to bring their Greenleaf home. Never before had he broken his word. He would not fail them now.

"Do not fear_, lass dithen_. I am here." The softly spoken words lit the room with their melodious overtures into the once impregnable darkness.(_little leaf_)

"Speak not that accursed tongue, warrior prince!" The sharp hiss cut through the beautiful words. "Or it shall be the young one that pays!"

Legolas pressed closer to his brother, older by over a millennia and a half, heedless of the chains that cruelly bound the Elf to the wall. A small hand gripped his brother's wordlessly, offering reassurance though cerulean eyes never wavered from beyond the cell bars. Ôlvaethor could not help but feel a swell of pride at the courage shown by his youngest brother today. He had barely passed his majority and begun his weapons training, but already it could be seen that the strong, willful blood of the House of Oropher ran through his veins. Gentle as his younger brother might be, he would make a fine warrior when the time came.

"But you should not think I have brought you all here for the sake of just killing you." Silence met this remark. "You, my fair lady of Imladris, shall bear your child in the Dark. How ironic, for Elrond's own spawn shall be turned against him in service to the Shadow!" Cruel, jagged laughter echoed through the dank, enclosed space. Celebrìan leaned further behind her golden haired protector. It seemed almost impossible, but her face had gone even whiter than before, the only sign of life being the eyes of smoldering steel set in bleached ivory.

"_Ce orch 'waur!_" Ôlvaethor's rage was uncontained as he strained against his bonds futilely. The gentle lady did not deserve such a fate. "How dare you even speak to her! I swear by Elbereth I shall kill you if you harm any of them!" (_Dirty orc_!)

Legolas tore his gaze from the darkness to stare at his brother. Never had he seen him like this before. The warrior was always calm, poised, unruffled by events around him; the perfect prince. This raging anger hardly fit his knowledge of his beloved brother.

"Ahh, but don't think I have forgotten you, brave warrior." The amusement and anticipation in the voice struck the Elf more so than if the Shadow had raged back. "I would not want to deny my subjects some sport. They have been so very patient, even with Elf flesh near. It wouldn't be very kind of me to deprive them of their fun when they have worked so very hard to bring you here. Now, my lord prince, are you up to providing a little entertainment?"

The door of the cell squeaked loudly as it was forcefully opened, as if in prelude to the torment that would occur beyond its bounds. Orcs, their presence earlier concealed by the overwhelming Shadow, shuffled through, blood lust bright in their dark eyes. Vicious, dirtied hands caked with unmentionable matter thrust through the barrier of elflings, tossing the young ones aside like so much refuse in their quest for their promised toy. Macabre glee was found in the depths of their yellowed orbs as they set sight upon their prey.

They had not counted upon the ferocity of the young ones. Legolas had his mother's gentle Silvan spirit, but the deadly wrath of his father's House when provoked, especially when it came to the well-being of his family. With the focused precision of one who had just begun his training he fought, aiming his punches and kicks at the orcs' most vulnerable parts. Lìranar, though the youngest and smallest, had a temper matched by only that of Galadriel. Like silver fire she entered the fray, uncoordinated but enthusiastic in her retaliation against those who had brutally ripped her from her parents. Elladan and Elrohir, being farther in their majority, had more experience in such matters, using their strong connection with each other to coordinate their moves, channeling their anger at the treatment of their mother to strengthen their attack.

Their ferocity was short lived, however. The young Elves stood no chance against the more powerful, if less agile orcs. They were soon overpowered, bound hand and foot by cruel ropes before being tossed aside once more.

"Ôlvaethor!" Legolas cried desperately, warring against his bonds as his older brother was dragged bodily out.

"_Avo 'osto nad, muindor nìn!_" The warrior's last cries echoed through the corridor. The last they saw of him was a flash of sun bright hair swiftly swallowed by the surrounding dark. (_Don't be afraid, my brother!_)

* * *

"_Pen neth_, you must eat something. It will not aid your brother if you do not keep up your strength." The lady's soft voice cut through his grief fogged mind. It reminded him of the trees, of the special times in Greenwood when the light of the stars was bright enough to shine through the thick eaves and the spirit wraiths writhed to the pulse of the forests' heart. (_young one_)

"Ada and nana will be so sad," he whispered. "They've already lost two of my brothers. Now they shall lose two more. And there will only be Sùlaur and Aerlind left to comfort them." He rested his bruised face upon his arms once more as the shameful tears ran down his face.

Small arms encircled him. He looked into the smudged face of Lìranar, her deep blue eyes large in her delicate facial structure. Her silver hair was matted and tangled, its glow hidden beneath layers of caked refuse from the floor. She shone with the same concern as her millennia older sister behind her, yet it was the fear for one's friend rather than motherly instinct. In her mind he had passed a test, proving that this Silva was far from weak though cry he may.

"Don't worry."

"And why not?" His reply was short and bitter, so unlike him.

The younger Elf peered at him from beneath dark lashes. "Because your brother will come back. Celebrìan is like that too, and so are my adar and naneth. They think that only they can protect us. So they always come back." Her words were sure, certain in their truth. If Celebrìan's voice sounded as the fey forest glade, hers held the undertone of fire and passion, unpredictable as the song of the dancing flames that burned so brightly within her eyes. He felt drawn to her. So different was she from him. He could sense it, feel the ready heat of her ire and the easy humor hidden by an innocent façade, deviating greatly from his cool persona of tree speak and quiet contemplation. They were as diverse as night and day.

From that moment on he would love her as dearly as he would a sister.

"You are right. He has always come back before, even when he went out on patrol for five years. He will come back now." It was as if she had imparted some of her strength, her brightly burning hope that she would see her kin again, no matter what happened.

Elrohir crawled over, aided heavily by his twin. Elladan's dark face was serious, worried for the injuries his brother had sustained during the fight. Their mother had tended him as best she could, but his leg was bruised and probably fractured. The younger twin gave a bright smile to his frowning naneth.

"You should not move, _ion nin_," she reprimanded gently from her place by Legolas's side.

"Oh nana, it's fine. 'Dan won't let me do anything on it anyways." He eyed his twin mischievously. "Sometimes I think he's my naneth."

Elladan scowled. "You seem to need another one. You're always getting us into trouble. Glorfindel still probably wants to kill us."

"I told you before. I'm not the one who put the dye in his soap."

"It was your plan! And you were supposed to be keeping watch!"

Lìranar glared at them both accusingly as she flailed beneath a laughing Legolas. "Will you two stop it and get him off of me? He's heavier than he looks!" She turned her willful glance upon the young Silva, who immediately straightened but kept a smile upon his face.

"That reminds me of the time Sùlaur and I put food dye into the cake meant for the fall festival. Ada ordered us to work the cellars with Galion for a year after it was brought out in public."

"Our ada gave us to Glorfindel." Elladan looked solemnly upon them all. "I don't care what people say, he is evil."

Lìranar gave an unladylike snort, much like her father had before she had been captured. "No. Evil is how my nana looked at Rumìl when she found out he promised to bring me back a warg cub."

"A _warg_ cub?" came three incredulous voices.

She nodded sagely. "Yes. He said that if I would stop talking for a night he would find me one." She frowned pensively, chewing on a dirtied strand of silver hair. "I hope he remembers."

Legolas leaned back against the wall, staring into space. "Do you think we'll ever be free again?" his quiet voice whispered, sounding much like the despondency of rustling leaves.

He felt a small body settle against him, and a silver head nestle into the contours of his shoulder. Elladan set his younger brother between himself and his mother's sister. "Of course we will, _Galadh-hèn_," came her soft whisper as she drifted into reverie. (Child of trees)

* * *

The partaking of two scanty, barely edible meals had elasped since Ôlvaethor had passed through the crudely wrought iron doors, an ominous presence lurking in the open. Legolas was growing more desperate with each passing moment, but he hid his anguish valiantly beneath a smooth façade so as not to concern his friends. They could see his building anxiety, though, especially Lìranar, who took it upon himself to make sure he did not lose himself to despair. Elladan and Elrohir often joined their conversation, amusing the other two with their constant quarreling. No matter how much they argued, it was apparent that they loved each other more than anything; bonded by the heart and by their immortal fea.

Celebrìan kept watch over the young ones, wearily leaned against the dank wall. The elflings found her an object of extreme consternation, for with her bleached skin, frail as parchment, and fatigued demeanor she seemed no more than a wraith herself. Elladan especially feared for his naneth and unborn sibling, as there was no ada to relieve the strain and share the burden of supporting another growing life.

"She needs the sun and the trees," Lìranar stated matter-of-factly when he confided to them.

"We all do," Legolas murmured softly, slumping against her slim shoulder. "None of us looks much better, you must agree."

"Quite the optimist, aren't we?" was Elrohir's comment, complete with a grin, albeit weak one.

The young Silva gave him a weak half-smile in turn. "Sùlaur would laugh and say that I must have angered Aerlind yet again. Is that better?"

Elladan hissed. "Hush up, you two! You'll wake naneth!" But his dark eyes flashed with kindled amusement in their grey depths.

Elrohir rolled his own identical eyes. "Yes, nana."

"Quiet!" Lìranar's command came taughtly as she abruptly stood, her purple hued orbs narrowed in intense concentration. The bantering swiftly stopped as the others followed suite.

The woodland elfling inhaled swiftly, cerulean eyes flashing as he dug his nails tightly into his fist. "They approach." The elflings gathered about the slumbering Celebrìan, as they had earlier.

No attention was paid to the orcs flanking either side of their limp burden. Rather, their focus was the bloody, golden-haired figure slumped between the creatures.

Legolas made a whimper of distress as he broke away from their circle and caught his unconscious brother as his body tumbled to the ground. "Ôlvaethor! No!  
What did they do to you?" He stoked his brother's matted hair, the once shining strands sullied by filth and his own blood. The younger Elf's tears fell silently to be lost in the mass. The other elflings could only watch as the sad scene unfolded before them, lost in the shared grief of an Eldar's eternal pain.


End file.
